tough as it was facing her mother, seeing her father was worse. He could barely bring himself to look at her, and when he did, it left Aster wishing he hadn’t bothered. His grief was so profound Aster swore she could see it emanating from him like exhaust from a car. She’d been a daddy’s girl for as long as she could remember, but now that she’d done the unthinkable, now that she’d disappointed him and brought shame on the family, she was sure there was nothing she could ever do to regain his favor.
It was a childish game, refusing to look. She’d done the same thing as a kid whenever she was faced with something she didn’t want to deal with. Of course it never worked, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Still, maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time she’d wake from the nightmare and rewind her life to the day her agent called with news of Ira Redman’s contest. Only this time, armed with the foresight she lacked then, she’d refuse the offer and spend the rest of the summer like any other normal eighteen-year-old—shopping, sunning, flirting with cute boys, and waiting for her first semester of college classes to begin.
“Aster. Aster—you okay?”
The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t the one she’d expected. She blinked her eyes open to find Ira Redman sitting before her, wearing a crisp cotton shirt folded at the cuffs, the better to showcase his sporty Breguet watch. Beside him sat the attorney she’d met with before, back when she was first called in for questioning and had no idea just how much trouble she’d soon be facing.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I still represent you.” The lawyer centered his gaze on hers.
Aster nodded and picked at her jail-issued jumpsuit, which drained her complexion and made her look as close to death as she currently felt. It was strange to see the two powerful men sitting before her. It was so opposite of what she’d expected it took a few moments to process.
“I would’ve come sooner, but you forgot to put us on the list.” Ira shot her a pointed look that told her they both knew it wasn’t exactly an oversight.
She squinted between the attorney and Ira. The two men were probably around the same age, but Ira was clearly the one wielding the power. In a place like LA, a bespoke suit and designer silk tie was the uniform of those who answered to a higher authority. Whereas Ira’s dark designer jeans and untucked shirt indicated he answered to no one.
“We want to help you. If you’ll let us, that is.”
Aster stared at the dull green wall just past his shoulder, the shade forever imprinted on her mind as the color of misery, despair, and lost hope. She clenched her hands in her lap, unsure which of the two evils was worse, being in her parents’ debt or Ira Redman’s. God knew she needed help. Her parents’ idea of support was to swap one jail for another by putting her under house arrest. Not that she actually had anywhere to go outside of the family manse. She was the most reviled person in LA. The safest place for her would be tucked away in her family’s massive gated Beverly Hills estate, where no one could reach her.
Yet Aster refused to play it safe. Refused to admit she’d messed up her life so badly she needed her parents’ strictest guidance to get back on track. She was just stubborn enough that she could not, absolutely would not, surrender to their will. But mostly, she’d do whatever was necessary to shield them from the mess and keep their involvement to a minimum. Accepting Ira’s help was a sure way to do that.
She’d made so many stupid mistakes—falling for Ryan Hawthorne was at the top of the list. She’d let her ego take over and fooled herself into believing Ryan when he said he cared about her, that he’d always be there for her. It was all lies, of course.
What had Ira said? Never trust an actor, Aster. They’re always acting; they have no off switch. It was only now that she could see the truth of those words.
All she knew for sure was that she didn’t harm Madison Brooks. She was 100 percent innocent of any wrongdoing—despite the abundance of evidence the state of California was holding against her.
“We’re prepared to post your bail.”
Aster glanced at them between wet, clumpy lashes, unaware she’d been crying. She did that a lot lately.
“And what do you want in return?”
Ira and the attorney exchanged a loaded glance, before Ira switched his focus to her. “Nothing.”
“You know I can never repay you.” She frowned at her chipped nails and ragged cuticles. Her hair was matted and dirty, her skin broken out, and she was probably rocking a major case of unibrow, but she was too depressed to care about any of that. It wasn’t like she was posting selfies from her jail cell.
“You going to flee the country?”
She frowned. “Where would I go?”
Ira shrugged. “Then it looks like neither of us has anything to worry about.”
“And so you bail me out . . . and then what?”
“You return to your normally scheduled life. Your suite at the W is waiting.”
She inched lower still on the hard plastic chair. It was embarrassing to keep taking from him. It needed to stop. She needed to stand on her own two feet. Though at the moment, she was so far gone, so in need of a savior, she had no idea where to start.
“And how am I supposed to live?” Aster mumbled the words. “How am I supposed to support myself? Who would be crazy enough to hire me?”
Ira laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed as though she’d said something funny. When he finally quieted down, he looked at her and said, “Call me crazy, but I distinctly remember offering you a job, and I seem to remember you accepting.”
“Yeah, and then five seconds later I was cuffed as someone read me my Miranda rights.” She shook her head and refused to look at him. “I’m no good to you now.”
“On the contrary.” He was quick to counter. “This is Hollywood, Aster, not the Republican primary. In the nightclub biz, scandal is currency. Even so, if you decide you’re not interested in my offer, there’s still the matter of the prize money you won.”
Aster wondered if she looked as surprised as she felt. Her last memory of the prize money was the moment Ira plucked the check from her fingers and slid it into his pocket. For safekeeping, he’d said, though the expression he wore had convinced her she’d never see it again. Seconds later, she was shoved into the back of a squad car and hauled away, and she’d pretty much forgotten about it until now. Had she really been so wrong about him?
“You earned it fair and square. It’s yours for the taking. I deposited it in a trust account under your name.”
“Keep it.” She dismissed the offer with a quick wave of her hand. She might be desperate and broke, but it was the right thing to do. “Put it toward the attorney’s fees and bail.” She glanced briefly at the lawyer sitting opposite her and ran a series of quick calculations in her head. Though the prizewinning check bore an impressive number of zeros, it was merely a start. A good defense team would plow through it in no time. It would be spent well before they even made it to trial.
She dropped her chin to her chest and scrubbed her hands through her hair. She’d moved one step forward, only to find herself right back where she’d started. She had nowhere to live and no good way of supporting herself. As a high school grad with no real skills and a mug shot that had gone viral, she was untouchable, unemployable. The independence she’d longed for came at a price she could not afford.
“I’m serious about the job offer as well,” Ira said, as though reading her mind.
“The job was as a promoter. How am I supposed to bring people in? I’m a social pariah!”
Ira remained undeterred. “If you want to change public opinion, you need to put yourself out there and prove you have nothing to hide. I wouldn’t make the offer if I didn’t think you were capable. Remember the promise I made at the start of the contest?”